


Who Will Save Your Soul?

by StormyNightStories



Category: Constantine (TV), Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), DCU (Comics), Hellblazer
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cigarettes, Death, Demonic Possession, Demons, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Magic, Past Relationship(s), Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyNightStories/pseuds/StormyNightStories
Summary: "Oh, a storm is threat'ningMy very life todayIf I don't get some shelterOh yeah, I'm gonna fade away"Gimme Shelter - The Rolling Stones.Or,The one in which John is shit at asking for help.





	1. Gimme Shelter

You had just closed up for the day, in the quaint little shop you worked at called The Oracle. The scent of Dragon’s Blood and Sage wafted out the door as you exited it. The Oracle was your typical “New Age” shop with poultices and incense, it had become a makeshift home for you. The smell and the sights and the people  were comforting for you. 

You would showcase the occasional “fortune teller” or “medium”, but you’ve yet to meet one that hadn’t used simple “cold reading” techniques to fool the clientele. You only hired the best though, despite it being a somewhat misleading business. It paid your bills and brought some folks comfort so you turned a blind eye to the charlatans. 

“Hey Y/N, wait up!” You whip around and Amita, your friend is close behind you, her boots hitting pavement.  She’s shorter than you, a petite woman, with thick gorgeous ebony hair that tumbled past her shoulders and graced the middle of her back. She had an almost contagiously cheery disposition that seemed impossibly large for her small stature. She was one of the few you considered to potentially be an actual medium with legitimate power. She grinned knowingly. “So how’d it go?”

“How’d what go?” 

“You know.” She winks and smiles a cheesy grin. You had almost forgotten. 

“C’mon, Amita, I don’t kiss and tell.” You grin devilishly and lean up against your car and pull a stick of gum out of your purse. You kicked your smoking habit years ago and gum seemed to help keep it at bay. 

Truth is, there wasn’t really anything there between you and the guy Amita was talking about. You had lunch and that was about it. You’d think a self-proclaimed magician would have more tricks up his sleeve. You met him at some sideshow while he was swallowing swords and doing simple sleight-of-hand.

“Aw, come on! I mean he’s a sword swallower right? He’s got to be a fabulous kisser.” 

“How does swallowing swords—“ you shake your head in disbelief, “never mind. Are you carpooling with me again?”

She frowns. “Yeah, my car won’t be out of the shop ‘til the end of the week.” 

“No biggie.” You hop in the driver’s side and turn the car on. 

You always enjoyed the macabre and the strange, so that’s who you associated with. “Freak show” types, people on the fringes of society, you gravitated toward them. You had a penchant for simple magic and herbalism, so you fit in just fine. 

Your sedan struggles to life and you head to drop her off. You both were quiet for most of the trip, until you placed your car into park. 

“Y/N?” She broke the silence.

“Yeah?” 

“Why are you so secretive? I mean everyone’s entitled to their secrets. But I feel like you know everything about me, but I don’t know much about you.”

“I don’t know, Amita; I guess I’d rather hear about other people’s lives than bore everyone with mine.” You smile as you park in her driveway. Of course you know that’s bullshit though. You were secretive because as soon as people learn your secrets their life goes to absolute shit. She seems satisfied with your answer though. “I can’t stay for tea tonight, Amita, I need to stop off by my neighbor’s and give her some medicine. She’s been sick.” 

“What that old lady that lives across from you?”

“Yeah, her.”

“Oh okay! Good luck! That stuff you make is practically magic. I don’t see why you don’t go in business for yourself making it; it’s like miracle powder.” 

“I don’t know, I’d rather just do it for free.” 

“You’re too nice for your own good.” 

“Yeah, probably,” you shrug. “Tea tomorrow?”  

“Okay, sure, see you then!” You leave, miracle powder in tow.

You pull into your quaint apartment complex and stop at an apartment that looked just like yours, across the way, where your neighbor lives. Your fist raps on the door and a very flu-ridden elderly woman answers it. 

She sniffles between words, holding a blue handkerchief. “Oh (Y/N), It’s so good to see you.”

You smile warmly. “It’s good to see you too. I brought you something that may help.” You pull the small bag out of your hulk of a purse. She gingerly takes it  from your hand. “Just remember to mix a tablespoon in with your tea or water. It won’t taste incredible, but it should help.” 

“Thank you, y/n you’re such a good girl.” She sniffs a few times and adjusts her nightcap. “Oh, dear, by the way, I saw a man outside your place a while ago, I don’t know if he’s still there or not, but I thought you should know. He was a handsome fellow. Smokes like a chimney though. Be careful around men, young lady, you know how they can be.” She shakes a crooked pointer finger at you, her eyes perpetually watery from her sickness. She was twice divorced, she had every right to be suspicious. 

_ Smokes like a chimney _ .

“Thanks, Ms. Bartlett I’ll look into it.” 

“Goodnight dearie.” She smiles with an nod and closes the door. 

You get back in your car and park in your assigned spot. In the glow of the headlights you see someone who you haven’t seen in a very long time, whose face brings back a flood of memories. Your stomach churns with a mixture of anger and longing. How you could simultaneously want to strangle someone and kiss them was beyond your understanding at the moment.  You flick off your headlights and can still see the ash at the end of his cigarette glowing orange. You get out of the car and lock it. You approach with something akin to contempt.

“Hello John. Long time no see.” You snark, venom lacing your voice. 

He’s changed a bit since last you saw him. His trench coat has gathered some more stains, and time has faded some older ones. His blonde hair has started to grey ever so slightly and has been cut a little shorter since last you saw it. His face looked more tired than you’ve ever seen it.

“Hello, love. Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s bloody cold out here.” Steam escaped his mouth. His British accent rolls of his tongue in that familiar, yet currently infuriating way.

“Should I?” You cross your arms, your back to the door and raise an eyebrow.

“Now you’re just toying with me.” You gesture for him to go in after you unlock the door. He steps in and flicks the butt of his cigarette out the door. You close it and lean against it, your temper lowering only slightly by seeing his face and those eyes.  _ Those fucking eyes _ . “Nice place you’ve got here. Does the herbal business pay well?” He remarks snidely.

“What are you doing here, John?” You ignore his insulting question. 

“Don’t sound so hostile. Can’t I just be visiting an old flame?” 

You clench your fists and speak through gritted teeth. “I hardly think that’s what this is.”

“I’m hurt.” He goes to light another cigarette and you pluck it from his fingers as before he can ignite it. “Maybe I’m visiting for the warm hospitality,” he jokes with a wicked smile.

“Funny.” You poke an angry finger into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little caught off guard by the fact that I haven’t seen nor heard from you in, what, five years? And you think it’s appropriate to just appear on my doorstep? You expect me to be welcoming?” 

“I had my reasons for not keeping touch, love.” He looked down at you sincerely, but you’re used to his fake sincerity.

“Sure you did. And now you’re here expecting to get a lay from an old girlfriend.” 

He smiled devilishly. “I’m not saying I’m opposed to the idea.”

Anger flares up in your gut and you felt your cheeks redden. “Unbelievable. Just get the fuck out of here, John. I don’t have the time nor patience for your shit.”  You open the door for his exit, but he closes it. You didn’t fight too hard. 

He laid his hands out  in a “calm down” manner. “Hey, Hey, Hey, listen, I really do have a reason to be here. Not just for the off chance of a lay.” 

You shoot him a glare, and listen cautiously, unclenching your jaw. “Go on,” you sigh reproachfully. 

“I’ve got myself in a bit of a tight spot and I need your help.”

“I don’t have any old artifacts, tomes, or money, John.”

“Jesus, I don’t want your money.” His voice is laced with frustration.

“Then what is it?” You shout, temper rising again, the fucking nerve of this guy…

He stands up and walks toward you and stops close enough to where you can smell the cigarette smoke and alcohol off his jacket.

“I’ve been possessed, (y/n), by something nasty. I think it may be our old friend.” He says in a hushed tone.

Your stomach drops and you push back the horrid memory. You glance up at him and he looks down at you with those eyes that can melt a succubae’s heart. You felt the hate and anger falter. 

“If this is your idea of some sick joke…” Your voice shakes slightly.

“Cross my heart. I encountered it after a bar fight near here.”  _ Violence _ .

“Why do you need my help? Don’t you have a priest friend that can help you?”

“We both know that you have far more experience with this bastard than any priest. I trust you more than any priest too. Listen love—”

“I’ll help.” You say the words before you can even fathom what they mean.

“I need you to be sure.” 

“Yeah. I will. I assume you don’t have anywhere to stay so you can take the couch.” You point at the second-hand couch lazily. He wouldn’t have asked for your help if he weren’t desperate, even he wouldn’t be so evil.

You’re both quiet for a moment. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

You stare at each other for longer than anticipated. There was death in his eyes, a darkness you had thought you would never see again. Something deep within you wanted it to consume you. 

You needed sleep. This was too much for one night. You stepped toward your bedroom. “I’ll see you in the morning.” You brush past him to your bedroom. 

“Goodnight.”

“Night, John.”

You close your bedroom door slowly, and you begin to tear up a bit, but shove the urge away. 

You thought this nightmare was long over. 

You sigh and flick off the lights.

  
  



	2. Heaven Beside You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Like the coldest winter chill  
> Heaven beside you, hell within  
> Like the coldest winter will  
> Heaven beside you, hell within."
> 
> Alice in Chains - Heaven Beside You
> 
> or, 
> 
> The one with flashbacks and violent demons.

_ Feels like an eternity ago. 2005. _

You were younger and you thought you knew everything. You had just gotten into a fight with your roommate and were standing outside of a bar that you knew didn’t card, smoking a cigarette after your first shot of the night. You only had 6 months until your twenty-first birthday anyway. It wasn’t the most mature way to deal with stress, but it worked for you.

You felt like you were really tough stuff that could handle anything the world threw at you. And you looked the part, permanent scowl, too much black eyeliner, stiletto boots that could practically impale a man. You could handle anything. 

You were tapping your foot, trying to shake off the cold, while on your second cigarette. A beat-up old car with a saggy bumper appeared in front of you. It halted and a man appeared through the window. He was large, balding, and the smell of moldy hamburger buns wafted out of his rusted old jalopy. He licked his teeth and spoke. 

“Hey pretty lady, do you need a ride? C’mon, smile for me! We can take the scenic route and everything.” His smile could curdle milk.

“Fuck off.” You could visibly see the words hit him, like a slap across the face. His face swelled like a puffer fish as he ripped the keys out of the ignition. The door squeaked in defiance as he jiggled his way out of the car. He stormed over to you and stuck a fat sausage finger in your face.

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Spit flew into your face as he spoke. You were feeling brave, maybe too brave.

You paused to take a puff of the cigarette, not breaking eye contact, then exhaled smoke in his face with a scowl. “Fuck. Off.” His cheeks turned tomato red, as he pulled his fist back, ready to strike. Your eyes widened. What the hell have you done?  As he was about to turn your face into his own personal punching bag, you ducked, and his fist met a brick wall and he practically squealed. Another man appeared, grabbing his other arm and twisted it behind his back in a stress position. 

“The lady said she wasn’t interested, mate.” He was British, tall, and handsome, and had a large green Mohawk that jutted of his head. “How about you hop in that sad thing you call a car and hit the old dusty trail.” He turned him and pushed him toward the road, and he caught himself on his car. He ripped open his door, cursing up a storm before driving away. You let out a sigh of relief and leaned coolly back against the wall. 

“Don’t get out much do you, love?” He said holding out his own cigarette for a light. He was wearing a leather jacket, and a ratty old black t-shirt and jeans with holes in the legs.   

You obliged. “I get out enough, thank you.”  

“Name’s John Constantine.” He exhaled smoke. 

“(Y/N.)” 

“I like a woman who can hold her own. Interested in heading back to my flat?” He asked, smirking and puffing on his cigarette. Everything about him radiated dark, dirty, rough sex. You were all about it. But you truly liked to see men beg.

You give him a come-hither look behind your dark lashes. “Maybe some other time, John Constantine.” You flicked the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, kind of like his intentions of getting laid that night. 

“Definitely some other time.” He mumbled. You tossed him a smile over your shoulder and headed home.

-~-~-~

The light pierces through the blinds and hit your eyelids at just the right angle to annoy you out of semi-peaceful sleep. You grumble and sit up gathering your thoughts. Then it hits you.

_ Demons. Cigarette smoke and alcohol. John. _

You rub your face awake and stand up and mumble nonsense to yourself, putting on some clothes while barely looking. You look in the mirror. Of course on this particular day you have especially bad bed head. You put your hair into a ponytail as neat as possible and leave your bedroom.

On your couch is a sprawled John. Hanging out of his mouth is a loosely dangling unlit cigarette. He sleeps in a position that you couldn’t possibly imagine is comfortable, but he looks peaceful. He loosened his tie before he slept and it now is dangling off his neck pointing to the floor. A bit of his scarred, exposed chest shows through his unbuttoned white shirt.

“Like what you see?” He speaks gruffly, opening an eye.

“Sorry… I-”

“Don’t be, it’s not every morning that a beautiful woman ogles me for an extended amount of time.” He stretches as he sits up. “Usually it’s a succubus, or a gorgon maybe.” He jokes.

You frown. “I wasn’t ogling.” Just then the door opens and Amita walks in and stops as soon as she sees John. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you had company.” She smiles and walks over to John, as he stood up, buttoning his shirt. “Hi, I’m Amita.” She holds out her hand to shake his and he nods. 

“Charmed. I’ll be back in a while I have some errands to run.” He throws on his coat, tightens his tie and leaves.

Of course, in true Amita fashion she bolts over to you with all sorts of questions. 

“Is he really British?”

“Yes, Amita he’s British.”

“That’s so sexy! Where’d you meet him?”

“We’re old friends; we’ve known each other for a while.”

“How come you’ve never mentioned him?”

“I don’t know; he never came up.”

“Did you guys shag? Or whatever they call it?” She squeals.

“Do you even know what that means?”

“No.”

You chuckle. “Google it later. Anyway, do you want some tea?”

“Sure.”

You put some water in a tea kettle and turn on the burner.

“So tell me more about mystery trench coat guy.” She demands smugly.

“Amita there’s nothing to tell, we’re old friends.” You reply smiling, it may have looked more like grimacing.

“Old friends? I could see how you were looking at him. That was definitely not an old friend look. There was more than that, wasn’t there?” 

You start to feel a little uncomfortable and weakly attempt to change the subject. “What kind of tea do you want?” 

“Chamomile. It was really serious, wasn’t it?” She asks, sensing your discomfort. You swear sometimes she could be psychic.

The kettle whistles and you pour the water into little mugs and watch the water turn tan around the teabags. “I really don’t want to talk about it, okay?” It was probably as honest as you had been with her ever, really. 

She looks at you with concerned eyes and wisely decides to leave it alone. You both sip on your tea in silence. And that was okay, it was nice just having her company, really. When she finishes she says goodbye and gives you a warmer hug than normal. “See ya later, (Y/N).”

You sit alone for a minute with your thoughts until John walks back in. He shivers off the cold. “I brought you a couple of books about our friend. I know it’s been a while and you might need some brushing up.” 

“Thanks.” 

He senses your unease. “Something wrong? Well, other than the obvious?” 

“No, everything is fine.” You gulp down the rest of your lukewarm tea and grab the books. The top one is bound in what felt like leather, but for all you know could have been human skin. You flip it open and begin looking for the demon plaguing John, who has been pacing around the kitchen impatiently and has been unusually quiet. You fiddle through the pages and come across his name: Dretch. Your stomach drops and you swallow a lump. 

That torturous night. The night you almost died and nearly lost your soul. You shiver and slam the book shut and push it across the table. You turn to look at John and he’s fiddling with a butcher’s knife.

“John, what are you doing?”

He turns to face you with eyes that are no longer his; they are shining yellow and full of nothing but evil. He smiles menacingly and tosses the knife, it flips through the air and he catches it by the handle. He jumps at you and knocks you out of the chair and onto the floor, his weight on top of you with the knife at your neck, your left hand crushed painfully underneath his knee and the other held by his hand against the linoleum. The blade drew the smallest amount of blood from your neck. 

“You think you can save him?” His voice is less than human. Less than an animal, even. His breath smells like cigarettes and sulfur. “There’s nothing to save to begin with! He belongs to me. I told you I’d come back, didn’t I? I told you I would kill you. Do you think I make empty threats?” He holds the knife closer to your neck, more blood. “Well, do you?” 

“No, but you can’t have him, Dretch.” You say through your teeth. “We’ve taken you out once we can do it again.” You pull hard on your hand, but it was stuck under his knee, you felt it crack. 

“I appreciate your heart, (Y/N).” He brings the knife up above his head, but as he does the weight is lessened on your hand. “I’ll enjoy cutting it out as well.” You grab his wrist before the blade meets your chest and push your fingernails into it. The knife sits centimeters above your skin. You try to push it away and your nails scratch away some of his flesh. Your hand shakes to overpower him. You feel desperate, scared.

“John! John, I know you’re in there! Don’t let him take you, fight him!” You cry out in anger and fear, like a caged animal. 

“Oh yes, he’s in here. He’s watching in horror, trying so hard to get out. Pathetic, really. I’m going to kill you, then give him back his body and let him watch you die. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to ruin his life, and end yours.” He lessens his force on you as he monologues. Typical. You seize the opportunity and slam his hand against the linoleum and the blade stabs the floor. You ignore it and grab his face with both hands, and then slam his head against the overturned chair. He flops off of your torso and legs and your scramble to your feet. 

_ John can’t help you this time. Save yourself. _

You run over to the counter, and try to grab a makeshift weapon, and feel a hand grab your leg and trip you. Your forehead slams against the counter and then falls off and hits the floor. You reach as far as you can with your gimp hand and feel for something to save yourself. He springs back over, straddling you and his hands wrap around your neck. You struggle and kick and wheeze for air. Your eyes feel as though they are going to explode from their sockets.

“Choking might be the better option anyway, much more personal.” He grins and You can see blood staining his teeth. 

Your head feels like it’s going to burst from lack of oxygen and you reach for something, anything. The world starts to fade to black. You’re losing oxygen. You feel a thick power cord and pull on it as hard as you can. You hear a loud thump as something smacks against him. His grip loosens. Your head begins to clear and you swallow and gasp to catch a breath, and then cough several times. The world becomes bright again, and your head feels full. Your microwave lies on the floor next to his head. He lets out a soft groan. He’s still alive, just knocked out with a definite concussion. You take in what just happened. You almost died. He almost killed you. 

Adrenaline still pumps through you, making you shake as you stand and gain your footing. You quiver as you reach into the junk drawer and a shot of pain runs up your arm. Probably just sprained from being crushed under his knee. You wince and grab duct tape. You sit a very limp John up and wrap him up against the wall. You decide to use the whole roll to be safe, and drop the empty cardboard husk on the floor and sit against the wall across from him. His head is slumped over against the counter. Your head feels fuzzy and tired. Oh so very tired. A bit of blood drips from your forehead and you limply wipe it away with a wince. You feel warmth traveling down your chest too, the cut on your neck. It isn’t large enough to do serious damage, you’ll be okay, you thought. 

John wasn’t going anywhere, you just closed your eyes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think in the comments! I really enjoy writing this series. 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> \- B


	3. Evil Walks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Black shadow hangin' over your shoulder  
> Black mark up against your name  
> Your green eyes couldn't get any colder  
> There's bad poison runnin' through your veins."
> 
> AC/DC - Evil Walks 
> 
> or, 
> 
> Any last words?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback for some context into the reader's relationship with this demon, and with John. Enjoy!

Another lifetime. 2007. 

You and John had just gotten into a spat over the senseless, seemingly endless death wish he had. He was always putting himself in danger. Of course, he never understood your point of view about it.

“Of course it’s dangerous! What would you have me do, serve earl grey to the demons instead?”` 

Truthfully, You loved the danger. It was exciting, and you needed that rush of adrenaline too. However, lately, it felt like he was losing his touch as if he were distracted. He was becoming more and more beat up with every fight. It scared you. If he ended up dead, how would you forgive yourself? You typically stood in the background, reciting incantations as he would brutishly wail on said demons with whatever mystical weapons he managed to find, and his ability to conjure fire. You were beginning to become better than even him at these spells and bindings.

“The demons probably would like hearing a charming woman’s voice more than mine anyway, let’s call it a parting gift.” 

After you were expressing your worries, and he was getting defensive, and you both became increasingly annoyed, it finally escalated to full on fighting. 

“John, you nearly die every time we go on one of these missions. It’s scaring me. We can’t be reckless every time, and I can’t watch you die.”

His voice was cold, detached. “Then leave.” 

The words hit you like a slap in the face. And you did leave. 

You decided to drive to a “friend’s” house. You didn’t really have a whole lot of friends, You were way too busy with supernatural shit to have time for them, so you settled for a somewhat friend that you told “Sure we’ll hang out sometime!” and didn’t really mean it. It was a stretch. However, she was more than happy to have you over. 

It felt like a very long drive. You had the radio off. The only sound accompanying you was the sound of you sighing at yourself and your hands striking the steering wheel in anger. 

“Why does he have to be such a pigheaded fucking idiot?” You asked yourself not expecting an answer. It was dark on the road, and there were no streetlights to guide you. You squinted as your dim headlights barely illuminated the way ahead of you. Suddenly, a figure deformed, and humanoid walked casually in front of your vehicle, shocking you out of your anger. You jerked the wheel awkwardly, and the car careened to the left and through a guardrail, sending your head smacking into the steering wheel. You were in the air for what felt like hours. Then the car hit the water, knocking your head into the window. 

Darkness. 

Your consciousness lingered, hearing only the ringing in your head. It began to fade, and the sound of your car horn ringing loudly took over. You attempted to lift your head, and the noise stopped. Your head felt full, and you could hear only your breathing and heartbeat in your ears.  
Freezing water began to flood the floor, shocking your legs. 

Your head jerked up dizzily, and you realized you wouldn’t live if you didn’t get the hell out. Assessing your options, you painfully turned to face the window and stuck your feet on it. The water graced your hair as you lay on the center console. You pulled back your feet and kicked as hard as you could, with no budge. You repeated the process until the window finally broke out. 

You smiled weakly at the accomplishment and climbed out of the window. The water was wickedly cold. You let out a bit of a gasp and began to swim. Your muscles began to ache worse than before, as the chill fell upon you. You waded through the water and finally reached land, and fell limp on the shore, shivering. Your whole consciousness collapsed. You laid there, out of energy, freezing, barely alive. Slowly you felt yourself being dragged by one leg. You thought about struggling, but brain and body were disconnected and at odds. Your head limply thumped against rocks until you finally reached the grass. You heard a car roll up, and your body was lifted and flopped inside. It was warm and, even though you had no idea what was going on you felt yourself become comfortable with the prospect of allowing yourself rest. You drifted into unconsciousness.

You awoke with a start and glanced around the room, breathing heavily with fear. It was dirty and damp. You were alone in here, aside from a dust-caked window and a rickety, white door. You were tied to a bed frame on only the coils, hands and feet bound as well. You were sore and frigid, as you tugged on the bounds, which were made of cloth. It should have been effortless to slip or tear. However, your weakened state didn’t allow for even that. You started to feel desperate, your heart thrumming against your chest rapidly. 

You started to give up, contemplating your own death, or worse. You shouldn’t have left. 

The white door opened and a naked woman walked in accompanied by two similarly naked men. You began to pull even harder on the bounds, with no such success. Nothing good could come of these people in front of you. Their bodies were painted with dried blood. The three seemed amused by your struggling, their white smiles providing disturbing contrast to their reddened skin. The two men stood at either side of the bed frame, and the women stood at the foot of it.

“Are you familiar with violence, (Y/N)?” The woman asked still smiling, her perfectly white teeth glinting.

“What?” You were confused and thrown off by the question, and that she knew your name.

“I asked: are you familiar with violence?” She asked, almost annoyed, her smile fading. She spoke in a very clipped, formal voice. 

You narrowed your eyes at her. “I suppose so; some may say more familiar than others.” Feigning confidence was something you were good at in tight spots.

She smiled wickedly. “I knew you were, just by the company you keep.” Your eyes widened, and you knew she was referring to John. “I’m very sorry to get you involved in this, you see, our boss has a score to settle with your friend John Constantine, and by the score I mean he wants him to suffer. That small detail, unfortunately, involves you getting hurt, sweetheart.”

You had to think fast. So, you laughed. “Really, you think hurting me is going to bother him? Lady, you clearly have done no research. If you really knew John Constantine, you would understand that he could give two shits about anybody. Do what you will with me, it won’t affect him whatsoever.”

She smiled a cheerful, sadistic smile and tilted her head to the side. “That’s fine with me too. But darling, we know better than that.”

Your heart sank weakly. You were going to die. 

“You are going to be undergoing some changes.” She began to pace. “My boss has a particular interest in you because of your connection to Mr. Constantine. He wants to get to him, hurt him in every conceivable way, and he thinks you could be the catalyst.” She leaned over and brushed your matted hair from your face. You flinched away as if being burned. “You are the key, my dear, the key to his misery.” 

“A demon, right? Your boss.” 

“Clever girl, yes he is, the demon king of violence. Mr. Constantine has a nasty habit of condemning my master on several occasions, back to a not-very-nice place.”

I chuckled. “Hell." You spat. "A simple mortal, sending your pathetic master back to Hades.” You clicked your tongue chidingly. “Mustn’t look very good on his unholy record.”

She pulls a knife from seemingly nowhere. “I think we both know that John Constantine is no ‘simple mortal.'”

You started jerking at your bounds harder than before, but still nothing. 

“You see, you have been given a great opportunity, an opportunity to be the most powerful mortal on this plane. This knife is going to be what makes it happen. I have bound the demon Dretch to this blade, and when I cut you with it, you will become possessed. Possessed, by this beautiful entity.” She licked the blade lovingly, and it made your stomach wretch. “Any other mortal would give their right arm for the opportunity to be as powerful as you are going to be, are you not as thrilled?”

“Not really, lady, I prefer to keep my soul intact, thanks.”

“That’s really too bad.” She lifted the blade above her head to strike. They say that you see your whole life before you die. That was somewhat true. You could remember every sunset and sunrise, the stars, and who you looked at them with. John. You remembered staring at the sky on some plain outside Liverpool, both of you smoking like chimneys. You remembered him telling you he was poison, and you were a fool for sticking around. “Well then, you’re a fool for keeping me.” You quipped. You loved him, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell him? 

It was far too late for that. 

The blade sliced into your sternum, you remember choking out your last breath on this mortal coil. 

Then, Hell.


	4. Under the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Down, down under earth goes another lover  
> Down, down under the earth goes another lover  
> Milk you for what you're worth and call it murder  
> Down, down under the earth goes another lover."
> 
> Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Under the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Flashback Continued

All you remember is Hell after that. It’s every fear you have tucked away in your pretty little head made real, every little bump in the night, personified. Those bumps were never as innocent as you convinced yourself they were. You wandered endlessly through it, searching for every way out that you could. It felt like you were there for an eternity.

So many lost souls, and you could’ve sworn you recognized some of them. They would scramble to you, asking for help, for release from this place. You tried to make them understand that you were just as lost as them, but they didn’t seem to understand. On more than one occasion other souls would throw themselves at your legs and hold them, crying spectral tears, even supposed grown men. It was like they knew of the sort of business you did on the material plane, saving souls. You felt helpless, for yourself and the other lost souls there.

The demons were particularly fond of you. They enjoyed hunting you down and tearing your defenseless soul apart. You felt every last rip of your bones and ligaments, only to respawn in a matter of minutes. They would merely subject you to more horrors until they got bored of you. You almost couldn’t blame them; the bastards were put here by you. You had to continue running to escape them. Eventually, you reached a hill covered in molten rocks that moved and lurched as if it were alive. You couldn’t keep running. Everything ached; it was like you were a skeleton of your former self. You collapsed upon the red earth and the rocks your skin singed, you couldn’t care, it would just regenerate anyway. You were always at the brink of death, but never actually died no matter how much you wanted to. You could feel yourself subjected to every sort of ailment: starvation, dehydration, burns, smoke inhalation, hemorrhaging, you even thought you developed some weird soul cancer while there. Everything hurt in the worst possible way.

So you just lay there, complacent. You knew the demons soon would come and rip you to shreds again, but what else could you do? You stared at the dark red horizon and imagined what earth looked like today. Was the sun setting? You scarcely remembered what the sky looked like, or how the grass felt. You felt your blood boil, imagining all the awful things that the demon Dretch was doing to your body. The feeling of crying overcame you, but no tears would come out, you couldn’t, a new Hell all in itself. You angrily slammed your fist on the molten rocks, burning your hand, when you heard a familiar voice.

“Y/N?”

You ripped your head from the lava rock, half your face burned off, and it began to regenerate all the tendons and muscles and skin. You closed your eyes and winced at the pain. When you opened your eyes, there stood John. You’ve seen him dozens of times in Hell, the demon’s idea of a joke. It was your Hell because you were scared that one of these days it would be him, and you’d be in the same awful boat.

“Nice try, you aren’t fooling me this time.” You growled at the fake Constantine.

He looked at you, puzzled. He pulled out a pack of Silk Cut cigarettes, removed a white stick from it, and lit it on a molten rock. “I need you to come with me, (Y/N).”

You’d never heard an illusion say such things. Usually, they taunted you with John, or mutilated him in terrible, awful ways, nearly tainting my memory that you had of him.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” You spat.

“We both know you’ve been in here longer than you care to. I just got here, and I’ve been in here longer than I care to.”

Could it be him? You stood up, assessing him. “You are not John Constantine.”

“Yes, love, I am.” He puffed from his cigarette.

You almost began to believe it. “How?”

“Oh you know, tricks up my sleeve. So I’m your idea of hell, eh?”

You were taken aback by the comment. “No, you being here in Hell is Hell.”

He looked hurt. “I’m sorry I let you leave that night, (Y/N). I never wanted this to happen to you.” You’d never seen him so sincere.

“What did he do to my body?” You asked, fearing the answer.

“We don’t have time for that right now. I need to get you out of here, the longer I’m here, the harder it is for me to get you out. You’ve been here so long that you’ve become part of the scenery, love.”

Your eyes widened. “How long have I been here?”

“A few months maybe.” It was so strange how time moved in Hell. It felt like years, decades that you had been there. He walked towards you, his face illuminated by fire, making his eyes glow. “Take my hand.” You hesitated and took it, and it was as rough and as warm as you remembered. This was John. “Let’s go home shall we?” He recited a spell to unbind the two of you from Hell and bring you to the material plane. He held his hand in the air, palm out. He sounded powerful. He always told you that it never really mattered what you said when doing magic, as long as you could convince yourself. The hellish skies began to rumble and tore apart with a loud crack like thunder, and a swirling wind started to whip around the two of you. You felt your body rip from the clutches of this sickening place. Then, sweet, sweet light.


	5. Say You'll Haunt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Little supernovas in my head  
> Little soft pulses in my dead  
> Little souvenirs and secrets shared  
> Little off guard and unprepared
> 
> I was never good enough to find  
> I was never bad enough to mind  
> In the middle I will do my best  
> Take me in your arms and leave the rest."
> 
> Say You'll Haunt Me - Stone Sour 
> 
>  
> 
> or,
> 
>  
> 
> I like my demons with a side of fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes we are still in the midst of our flashback, don't worry, we'll be back soon. <3

Your eyes peeled open painfully. Your whole body felt weak and in pain. Breathing itself felt like a chore. You were in a bed without sheets with a scratchy woolen blanket on top of you. Your tired eyes glanced around the room, nobody. You didn’t feel alone, though.

Then, the startling realization fell upon you.

You weren’t alone in your own body. You felt something in there, something intrusive. Just then, John opened the door.

“Morning.” He was wearing his usual get up, a white shirt, tie, and black pants, but he was holding a tattered book in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other. He brought the cigarette to his lips and puffed out some smoke. You felt a tugging on your soul, something that willed you to attack him and hurt him in the worst ways. Horrifying images of murdering him filled your head. You shivered it off. He studied you before rubbing his cigarette in a tray on the ground.

“Wh-what’s wrong with me?” You asked, unable to move.

He looked at you dreadfully. “He’s still inside of you. I thought by bringing you back, maybe it’d force him out, but he’s far too strong. Your soul was weak when I retrieved it.” He sat down next to you on the bed, and the demon’s images became worse and worse. You flinched at them. He noticed and looked at you, empathetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, (Y/N).”  
Your throat felt like it had been through a garbage disposal. It was difficult to speak, and you felt a shadow of yourself. Dretch took your body and ran it into the ground and abused it as much as he could while he had the chance.

The closer John got to you, the more the disturbing images would fill your head. You winced. “It’s not your fault.”

A look of anger tore across his face. He stood up and started pacing like a frustrated lion in a cage. “Of course it’s my fault, (Y/N)! I’m fucking poison! Anytime I let anyone get close to me they end up hurt or worse! Why didn’t you listen to me? I told you all of this; I told you how fucked up I was. Why didn’t you take the fucking hint?" He pointed at you angrily, but you knew he wasn't mad at you per se. Just this awful, miserable situation. "And then I was an asshole, and I told you to leave, and now you're here! ” He gestured broadly at you and pulled a hand through his messy blonde hair. He trailed off, head in his hands.

You reasoned calmly. "I know, but you didn't put the demon there, John."

His eyes just fell on you, defeated. He stared at you with pained eyes for a while. “I can’t exorcise it (Y/N), it could kill you. You aren’t physically or spiritually well enough.”

“We don’t have any other options. I can’t stay like this. Besides, maybe I’m okay with dying.” You looked away from him. You weren’t this open with him. Did you mean that?

His eyes jerked to you. And he rushed to your side and kneeled down close enough for you to smell the Silk Cuts off of his hair and shirt. He grabbed a fistful of blankets and twisted it angrily in his hand as he spoke. “You don’t mean that. You just went through some seriously fucked up shit. You can’t mean that.” He pleaded angrily.

You looked at him, really looked at him. He looked tired. His eyes had developed some circles underneath it, and he had grown some prickly facial hair and his shirt was wrinkled and had some amber stains on it, which you could only assume was whiskey. The raw images in your head were getting so much worse the more you looked at him. You shut your eyes, trying to will them away.

“At this point, I’m probably going to die either way.” You paused. “If that is what my fate is, I need you to get this damn demon out of me. I trust you to do it more than anyone else. I can’t die with it inside. I can’t go back there.” You opened your eyes, and his fixated on yours. You swore they began to tear up a bit. You had never seen him cry. He swallowed it down. You painfully lifted your hand to touch his face. The images finally faded as your fingertips met his cheek. His hand met yours on his pallid face. You took a deep breath. It was the first time you felt peace in seemingly forever. You thought he could feel it as he smiled weakly. You had been a team for a long time now, a few years.

“(Y/N), I need to tell you something. If there is even a chance you won’t make it out alive, I have to tell you.” He looked around, nervous. “I know I’ve been pig-headed and a bloody bastard lately. I know you deserve more than I have been giving you. I should have never brought you into this; I’m a self-serving fool for doing it. The truth is I care about you a lot. More than I’ve probably cared about anyone. I think I love you, I may even know it." He looked away. "And I’m sorry for that. As soon as I admitted it to myself, you ended up like this. So, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. You should’ve run from me. Nothing good comes from fraternizing with John fucking Constantine.” You both sat there in silence while you found your words.

“Please, don’t be sorry. I feel the same way. I don’t care if you are dangerous. I never cared about that. I wanted this. I wanted this excitement. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. And, I love you too.” The last part was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

He looked down at you with tired eyes, loosening his grip on your hands. “It would be so much easier if you didn’t.” He said in a hushed voice. He brushed the hair away from your eyes and leaned in very close and kissed you. You had kissed him before, but mostly during throes of passion, and very rarely outside of that. His lips were chapped, but so were yours. It was a different kind of passion. Desperate, as if this kiss alone would save you. He pulled away, but you had wished he wouldn’t have. You both were quiet for a moment. “If I am going to do this, you need to rest. I need to prepare. We start tonight.” He walked out, and you laid there, a war for your soul polluting your dreams as you drifted into restless sleep.


	6. Goodbye Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Turning slowly, looking back, see  
> No words, can save this, you're broken and I'm pissed  
> Run along like I'm supposed to, be the man I ought to  
> Rock and Roll, sent us insane, I hope someday that we will meet again  
> You go your way and I'll go my way  
> No words can save us, this lifestyle made us." 
> 
> Goodbye Kiss - Kasabian
> 
> or, 
> 
> The hardest part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is our final flashback chapter. Enjoy!

That night he came back into the room. He sauntered in all serious-like, with a confident swagger that he always had during exorcisms. He finished the stub of his cigarette and put it out on an ashtray that was sitting on the floor next to your bed. It was quiet, and you had slept as much as you could with a demon polluting your dreams. He was genuinely sadistic and every time you would so much as drift into sleep he would fill your head with corrupting images of violence that anyone who is remotely normal couldn’t imagine. You couldn’t sleep with this poison in your veins. Violence against all those you care about, John especially. Dretch really had it out for him, that's for damn sure. He studied you for a moment and then spoke.  
“I’m going to do all I can to make sure you come out of this alive, Love. I can’t make you any promises though.”

“I know.” was all you could really muster.

He leaned in close to kiss your forehead, his lips less chapped than before. “To do this, I need you to let go. You have to let him have control for this to work right. You’ll be able to feel everything, see everything, but not able to do anything. I thought you should understand before we do this. It is going to hurt.”

A tight knot had formed in your gut with the demon faintly laughing in your consciousness. You feigned confidence and looked up at John with determined eyes. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

He smiled that same devious succubus melting smile. “That-a-girl.” He pulled out some rope, and you allowed him to tie your limbs to the poles of the bed frame. “I need you to relax and let go of everything. Let him have this one. Let him fully possess you.”

“I believe in you, John,” you whispered. He looked taken aback at first but then just looked down, like he had been nearly defeated. You finally let yourself go for the first time in a while. You had been struggling for so long, and you felt all your muscles loosen, and your body became quiet. All the smells of the room, silk cuts, and alcohol, dust muted into nothing. The fluorescent lighting of the room drifted into a faded grey. You were gone now.

Everything finally became clear again, but you were no longer in control. You could hear your own voice within yourself, mixed with a subhuman sound on top, and it was truly demonic.

“Don’t you get tired of hurting people you love, Constantine?” You could hear yourself say. You tried to have some sort of influence, but you had no control at all.

He brushed off the comment with ease. “I am going to give you one chance, Dretch. One. You can either drag your sorry ass out of her body, or I can force you out. Your choice, you pathetic sack of shit.”

You felt yourself smile sinisterly. “You know her body can’t handle it. She will die. You think you can really forgive yourself for that?”

You saw a change in his face, strained anger and sadness. It was slight, but it was there. “I don’t have to explain shit to you, Dretch.” He reached for a bottle of holy water on his dresser and in one swift motion splashed it across your torso and face. It felt as though he had just lit gasoline on fire on your skin and seemed to spread as such. You screamed, but nothing escaped because you no longer had a voice. The demon quietly winced and growled lowly as the water sizzled off of you. He had played this game before, and he was an expert. You knew that this was going to be the most painful experience of your life. You knew that your body would give before he would, but you had to keep fighting.

“That wasn’t good for her, John. She didn’t take that well, maybe it was because she didn’t get her beauty sleep, I made that very difficult for her, you see. She is not going to last very long, you’ll be lucky to even see her alive past ten minutes.”

He jumped at you and stuck a cross on our forehead. His mouth was right at your ear. “Shut your bloody fucking mouth.” He spat at the demon.

The cross hurt worse, a red-hot railroad spike inside your brain. You could do nothing but just experience it. You couldn’t react to the pain in any way. This was worse than any Hell you had been a part of. Dretch writhed your body under John’s weight, the pain affecting him too. You felt yourself fading.

John began to chant an incantation to unbind Dretch from your being. You felt a physical tearing at your psyche, crack at the seams of your mind.   
You dug deep, into the very foundation of your soul. You defied the odds, rooting your soul to your body. You started chanting your own incantations, matching John’s rhythm. The tearing became faster and more pronounced, and fuck did it hurt. You had to hold on, you imagined your fingers digging into your soul, holding on tight to what you could muster, chanting, believing as hard as you could that you would make it out of this.

John’s eyes began to glow white as you heard your demonic-self wailing like an injured animal, cursing John and everything he stood for. Deep inside you kept chanting through the pain, clutching your soul in your hands.   
One final tear, like ripping off a band-aid, except the bandage was on your soul, your psyche, and the wound was still fresh.

You felt your mouth open, and it was like vomiting out hellfire, a dark red figure emerged like putrid smoke from your gaping, chapped lips. John finished his spell, a windy, dark portal opening and John bound him to it. “The is not the last of me, Constantine, for you or her, I promise you that.” He clung to the edges of the portal before disappearing into darkness with a wicked smile and wink. He was gone.

You were alive. Weakened, but alive.

“Oh thank fuck, you’re alive!” John rejoiced and joined you at your side, gripping your hand while his shook.

“We did it, John.” Your voice was a weak whisper. You felt peaceful, quiet. “We did it.” You drifted away into sleep.

He saw you well. Took care of you while you healed. But he was distant, nearly cold. He was disconnecting himself from you.

You were well enough to walk and take care of yourself on the day he left. His clothes were packed up, everything was gone. The only remnants you found of him ever being there was a single Silk Cut Cigarette, leftover whiskey, and you discovered a note on his kitchen counter.

_“Y/N,_   
_I’m a right coward for not doing this in person. I just can’t._   
_I’m leaving. Don’t come looking for me, I’ll be the death of you otherwise._   
_I should have known better, you should’ve known better._   
_We were fools. Forget about me, please. Live a life worth living._   
_John_   
_PS: I won’t forget you.“_

You sank to the floor, your heart ripped from your chest. You went to dial John's number but stopped short of pressing dial. He was just as stubborn as you, he wasn’t coming back. You considered calling Chas but decided against it. There was no use, he made his choice, and you weren’t going to grovel.

_JOHN:_

“You’re an idiot.” Chas snarled at John. “You just let go of the best thing to ever happen to you, you know that don’t you?”

“Christ Chas, just drive. I’ve made my choice. I’ve tortured myself over it for days. You didn’t see her almost die. I did.” He shook his head. “I’m best off as a one-night stand or alone. I’m not relationship material like you and your sweet family.” He remarked snidely.

“You just destroyed that poor woman.” Chas drove down the wet road, the sky raining on the beater car. “She was sweet, cunning, smart, loyal--”

“All the more reason to let her go, don’t you think?”

Chas glared at John from the driver’s seat. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I already do.” 


	7. I Will Follow You Into The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied  
> Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs  
> If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks  
> Then I'll follow you into the dark."
> 
> I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> or, 
> 
> The fluff before the showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are back in the present! Please let me know what you think! <3
> 
> \- B

**Present Day.**

_“John! John, I know you’re in there! Don’t let him take you, fight him!”_

Your words echoed in your head, and you jolted awake. The sound of rapid knocking at your front door catching your attention. “John! Open the bloody door!” More knocking. “(Y/N)! Jesus, please don’t be dead.” You heard him murmur.

“Chas?” You croaked. You slowly scrambled to your feet, glancing at John. He was stirring lightly. You wobbled a bit before gaining your footing. You peeked through the peephole, to see a very concerned Chas outside.

He slammed his hand against the door again, harder now. You opened the door. “Bloody Hell, are you okay?”

“Good to see you too, Chas.”

He stepped inside. “Who did this to you, (Y/N)?”

You pointed at John, wrapped up in tape against the wall. “He’s possessed, didn’t he tell you?”

“No! No, he failed to tell me that, and I found out through the grapevine!” He walked over to the half-conscious Constantine. “Oi! Arsehole!”

“Hm? Chas?” He asked wearily. “What’re you doin’ ere?”

Chas punched him square in the jaw. Your hands instinctively go to your mouth in a bit of shock. Chas shook with anger. “I can’t believe you! I find out from a bloody common poltergeist that you of all people are fucking possessed?!”

The punch seemed to wake him up. “Oh gee, sorry mum! I didn’t think I had to alert you of my every move.” A sudden look of realization flashed across John’s face as he looked up at you, the gash in your head, the cut on your neck. “Oh fuck, look at you.” He looked crestfallen. “I’d have killed you.”

You grab the knife that was stabbed in the floor and gingerly cut him loose without a word. You rip the rest of it off, and he winces slightly as it pulls the hairs off his arms. “You didn’t tell Chas? Not your brightest move, John. The extra manpower would’ve been nice. Could’ve prevented all of this.” You gestured broadly over the destroyed room.

He sighed. “I thought I had the damned thing repressed enough. I was wrong. Sorry, love.” You blinked a few times. Hearing him say that again was hard to get used to. “And mate, I should’ve told you, I deserved that.” John rubbed his jaw.

“Damn right you did, you wanker.” He crossed his arms. It wasn’t often that John apologized, so he had every right to bask in it.

“We’re going to get Dretch out of you.” You said, calculated. You nearly shivered to say his name. It was a memory you didn’t want to revisit, but you felt like you had, several times since John’s arrival. “Frankly, I’m a little rusty. I need to study up.” You looked at the book likely covered in human skin and picked it up gingerly. You looked up at Chas. “Will you be willing to help?”

“Of course, anything for this arsehole. And you shouldn’t take this on alone.” He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, concerned.

Chas scooted out of the way as John silently walks over to you, placing his rough hands on your face softly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d be able to control me like that. You’re a tough bird for taking me down like you did.” He smiled sadly.

You were definitely taken aback by his warm hands on your face, but you couldn’t help but smile. “It wasn’t too hard, the microwave helped.” You glanced down at the toppled appliance. He let go of your face.

Part of you, a small part, wished he wouldn’t have.

You glanced down at the smooth-skinned book in your hand. “Well boys, I better get to reading. I’ll be in there if you need me.” You gestured toward your room.

Your eyes were cast down as you entered your room and flicked on your light, and hopped on your large, overly comfy and squishy bed. You popped two ibuprofen, and dry swallowed them with a gulp before opening the book, a dusty scent of yellowed pages and black ink wafting to your nose.

You read for a while, taking notes on some crucial aspects of the exorcism. It was difficult for you, facing your worst nightmare and learning how to destroy it. You had to admit, the way John did it on you before wasn’t exactly conventional for this particular demon. It worked though. You were more of a textbook type, you did things the way they were supposed to be done, much to John’s chagrin in the past. Luckily this time around, it seemed John’s body was in pretty good shape, and he had a lot more experience over the years than yourself when it came to demons. There was an advantage on his behalf. You practiced drawing sigils on scraps of paper and mumbled incantations to yourself. It was becoming late. You rubbed your eyes and looked at the time.

12:02 AM.

You texted Amita.

_You: Hey, would you mind opening the shop tomorrow? I have a bit of an emergency at home I have to take care of tomorrow._

_Amita: Is everything okay?_

_You: It will be, but it needs to be taken care of._

_Amita: Of course, darling. <3 Take care of yourself._

You were grateful she didn’t pry. A soft knock on your bedroom door alerted you. It was Chas.

“Hey,” he had a soft, concerned smile. “I put up some wards that should keep the demon quiet for the time being. And listen,” his voice dropped a little, “thank you for helping with him, it wasn’t right how he treated you, and I can tell you he really regretted it. His heart was in the right place, wanting to keep you safe and all, but as usual, his execution was shit.” He grinned.

You took a deep sigh, your heart thrumming slightly. “Yeah, in true John fashion, right?” You chuckled.

“Oi! I hear me ears burning. You two talkin’ about me?” John shouted from his place on the couch.

“Huge ego there, Johnny boy.” Chas retorted, “Not everything is about you, believe it or not.”

John murmured profanities, and you saw him shoot Chas the bird.

You grinned, “Thank you for keeping him safe all these years.” You gave Chas a warm hug.

“All in a day’s work, lass.”

You walked him to the door and sighed. “I want to try and get this done tomorrow night. Meet here at 10?”

“You got it.” He nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

Your smile slowly faded as the reality set on you that you would be exorcising a demon from your former lover. The demon who nearly killed you himself, twice now that you think about it. You wouldn’t let your insecurity show. You swaggered back to your room with confidence, feeling John’s eyes follow you without a word. You picked up your pajamas, you decided you needed a shower.

You were still covered in dried blood.

The warm water made you think, as it fell off of you in pinkish streams. Fucking Constantine. Part of you wanted to kiss him and hold him, not knowing if he would even be there after tomorrow night. That part of you yearned for a different time. Part of you wanted to hurt him how he hurt you. You hated that angry, vindictive part of yourself. You exited the shower and looked in the mirror. A pretty gnarly gash jutted across your neck. It was still raw and open, but no longer bleeding. You covered it in an antibacterial ointment, same with the wound on your forehead. You hissed in pain with that one. It would be a shiner for sure.

Just like old times, eh?

You changed into an oversized t-shirt for pajamas and underwear. You left the bathroom, peeking over at John who seemed to be smoking in the living room. You huffed angrily. Like he fucking owns the place. You let it slide, on account of the vicious demon inside of him. That familiar smell was somewhat comforting anyway.

You climbed back into your bed and got back into studying. You continued perfecting your sigils, your pronunciations, everything would be spot on. John’s soul relied on it.

You heard another rap at your door. You closed your book, your sigils on paper saving your page. You felt your heart thrum against your chest nervously. You opened your door a sliver.

It was John minus trench coat, and he looked amused. “What is it? You’re shy?” He commented on the tiny opening you created in the door. “I’ve seen you in your skivvies before, love.”

You frowned, opening the door more. “You happy?”

“I always preferred you like this.” He reminisced, “Comfortable, natural, and best of all without pants.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit, maybe a little embarrassed, warmth going to your cheeks as you looked away. It was like a part of you was afraid to make eye contact, as if as soon as you did, it would be over, your heart would be snatched from your chest by him.

“I missed that smile.” There was a certain longing in his voice. That cigarette-stained voice seemed to stab you in the stomach.

You were sick of this feeling, you wished he had never walked back into your life. Hell, you preferred he would just have never appeared in your life, to begin with. This pain in your heart. You couldn’t bear to lose him all over again, death or otherwise. Your eyes remained cast down, as you spoke. “What is it, John?” Your voice was just a whisper. “What do you want?”

He stepped closer, a hand brushing your cheek. You didn’t stop him, but you didn’t react either. “You, love.” His voice was low, sincere. “Just you.”

You brushed his hand away, your brows tight-knit, tears welling in your eyes. “Is that so, hm?” You grabbed him by the shirt and twisted the fabric in your hands. “You had me.” Your voice was shaky. “You had my fucking heart, John Constantine. You brought me back from the brink, and then… you left. No goodbye, just a cigarette and a note!” You twisted the shirt more, your jaw clenched. “You left me with those nightmares, the pain, the memories of what that monster did to me! Alone! I needed you. You understood better than anyone ever could, and you left me with that!” You beat on his chest, weakly, tears beginning to stream. He lightly grabbed your wrists, and your eyes finally looked up to meet his.

Regret. Pain. Sorrow. The death that seemed to be ever present in his eyes. He said nothing, only pulling you close into his chest, arms wrapping around you like a blanket. “There aren’t enough sorries in the world, love.” His voice radiated through you when he spoke.

Your anger seemed to melt with his voice and his body. Fucking Constantine. You needed this. You needed this with him. “Stay with me.” You said the words before processing them in your brain.

“You sure love?”

You nodded into his chest. He scooped you into his strong arms, laying you in on the bed with care, before climbing in next to you. You stared at each other for a long while, that familiar, palpable tension between you, but it was different. There was desperation in it, desperate to cling to the past and change it. He traced a finger below the gash in your neck.

As if reading his thoughts, you grabbed his hand. “It wasn’t you. I don’t blame you for it, John.”

Before you could even blink, his lips were locked with yours. It took you by surprise. There was a warmth behind it, a desire for more than just the carnal or lascivious. Your fingers tangled into his hair as you met his intensity. You wanted this, common sense be damned, you wanted him.

You desperately hoped this wouldn’t be your last kiss with John Constantine.

 


End file.
